


Let Me Help You

by PearofAnons



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon, Long-Distance Relationship, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Pining, Post Season 8, Post-Finale, Protectiveness, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, obvious to everyone though, they are both in denial, they don't know what to do with themselves, they're both kind of a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-04-07 15:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19087945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearofAnons/pseuds/PearofAnons
Summary: Sansa never did have the same boldness as her sister, so the request was never spoken out loud but with his loss the sentiment remained steadfast through the years.“I could be your family”All the ways Tyrion and Sansa acted as each other’s family no matter the years or distance between them.First in a Series, Sansa’s POV





	1. The Hand

**Author's Note:**

> First fic ever~ Loved this relationship to pieces and I can't leave these two alone. Since there was no emotional pay off in Season 8 (yet massive build up) and certainly not enough coverage on the show of the dynamic between these two (the subtleties of the book teasing), here are my headcanons post season 8/character studies throughout the series. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy and please do let me know what you think! Feedback is much appreciated :)

Chapter 1: The Hand  
  
Summery:  
In the recesses of her memory, she recalls him gently placing  his hands on hers whenever she needed comfort, and pleading that she let him help her when she was still powerless.  
  
It’s because of this she makes it a point to help him through the years in whatever power she had attained, even when she couldn’t reach out to hold his hand in hers.

* * *

  
  
Between the two of them, she felt like it was no contest when it came to who was more open with their affection, whatever affection that was between them. In King’s landing he was always the first one to reach out, making the effort to search for her when he had the time, always assuring her she was safe, that she could be herself with him, that she was not his prisoner, he was her ally. Even when they were reunited in Winterfell, he approached her first, making it a point to close the distance their circumstances and the years had placed between them. She knew in King’s landing he remained true to the vows he made in the sept, protecting her at all cost, whether it was against his own family or in court. Even when she made it a point to push him away, Tyrion had tried to be there for her, especially while she was wasting away grieving Robb and her mother.  
  
In the recesses of her memory, she recalls him gently placing his hands on hers whenever she needed comfort, and pleading that she let him help her when she was still powerless.  
  
It’s because of this she makes it a point to help him in whatever power she had attained, even when she couldn’t reach out to hold his hand in hers. He always made the effort to try, and even though in her youth she had withdrawn, she never forgot his kindness. No, the North was known for what it remembers, and no matter what has been given to her, she remembers him.  
  
Honor demands that she defend her family from those that would harm them, that she would defend them from anyone who would betray them, that was exactly the part she played in the Last War. He may not be of the North, their marriage may no longer be valid, but he acknowledged that she was his family once, and as she made her way to the gardens, she resolved to to let him know that for her, no matter what has been lost in the wreckage that is currently King's Landing, that has not changed.  
  
She finds him by himself making preparations for Bran’s coronation under the same canopy he had once sought her out in after the Red Wedding. Only this time, he could not see her approach because he had turned his chair in the direction to see the water, his back facing the garden path. As she drew closer she could see the amount of papers he had brought with him on the table, and the food the servants had brought for him. On his own table she can see he set aside the food far from him to make room for more papers.  
  
“You do need to eat.” She says once she is within ear shot. He lets out a chuckle as his back straitens and he turns to look over his shoulder to see her while she walks up beside his chair. He gives her a grin and she can see in his eyes the irony of those words in this place is not lost on him.  
  
“My lady,” he says nodding his head acknowledging her. It niggles at her that he always says that title to her softer than to others, but she chooses not to dwell on it right now, “I don’t need to eat.” He replies with an easy smile though she notices he still hasn’t set down his quill. As he looks up at her and she knows even with that smile on his lips, the grief is still present in his eyes.  
  
“There is much to be done, and I’m sure there will be much feasting once that crown is on your brother’s head.” He says before hunching back over to finish the letter he was writing. If he wishes to play this game, she can play it too.  
  
She moves from his side to where the food has been placed. She knows it must have been Sir Davos that gave the order for the servants to bring Tyrion his lunch here in the gardens, but she is sure that Tyrion sent the servants away after they had prepared the table. Everything looks untouched. She grabs some food, places it on two plates and goes back towards the seat adjacent to him, an echo of where he once sat trying to comfort her a lifetime ago.  
  
“Do tell me my lord, are you intending to starve yourself out of my brother’s services?” She says as she sets the plate next to him, and he chuckles as he finally puts down the quill. “I never thought starvation would be your choice of death, especially so early on in your time as Hand.” She says jokingly while popping a grape into her mouth as he stretches his back a bit and looks over at the plate, still not touching the food.  
  
“I assure you my lady, that is not my intention.” He says with a chuckle looking at her as she moves some papers aside, making space for the goblets and their utensils. He doesn't move to stop her. “I’ve just been so busy with work, I haven’t had much of an appetite.”  
  
“If that is the case, than I shall join you.” She says standing to retrieve the pitcher to pour some water in the goblet she sets down for him. “Surely, you can pause a moment as to share a late lunch with me.” She says as she gives him a pointed look, and he knows he is losing this battle. It’s been three days since he’s last eaten, she knows because the facade of his busyness does not fool her. No one else may have noticed, but she can tell he’s lost even more weight from the time he was first presented to her at the Dragon Pit. Tyrion sees this in the look she is giving him and sighs setting aside his work to bring the plate she had prepared for him in front if him.  
  
“Of course my Lady, I could never deny you anything.” He says as stares at his food picking at it slowly, not noticing the way her eyes had softened at his words. She catches herself and takes the moment to really look at him.  
  
 She sees how his eyes gloss over as he picks at the food and knows he must have not even noticed his slip.  
  
“Tyrion.” She says softly and his eyes immediately find hers just like hers always find his when he says her name. “You are allowed to grieve.” She says placing the pitcher down. He doesn’t look up at her, but his hands go still. He shakes his head and starts.  
  
“No I don’t think I am allowed even that -“ He begins to say but she cuts him off.  
  
“I didn’t know your brother well, but if Brienne was willing to vouch for him, I’m sure no matter what they said about his end or how he left, he was still a man of honor.” She says as her hand reaches to touch his but she falters, diverting to bringing his goblet closer to him instead.  
  
She hopes he doesn't notice the slight twitch in her hand.  She was never good at this part, never brave enough like him to cross that boundary. She can blame it on the years of preparation and polishing to be the perfect lady, or other traumas of her past that she shall not name, but she refuses to dwell on them now. She may struggle with reaching for his hand but she could lend him her words, she's done it so often it's become second nature. It is at her words his whole body goes still and unshed tears come to his eyes. She saw how he was with his brother in the celebrations after the Long Night. She knows how much Jaime had meant to him.  His hands go to his lap and he looks down at them trying to compose himself.  
  
“You know, he would want you to carry on” She says taking her seat “and that requires you to eat.” She knows he remembers those exact words, and he smiles sadly to himself, still not able to raise his head.  
  
“Your sister on the other hand, was cruel,” she starts and he looks up at the mention of his sister, “yet even when she was cruel, I cannot deny that I had learned from her a great deal.” She says taking a sip from her own goblet. She would have never been willing to speak kindly of his siblings, especially Cersi but for him, she was willing to make an exception. He shook his head once more.  
  
“You don’t have to do me any favors Your grace”, he starts while wiping his eyes quickly of the unshed tears, she notes his choice of her title, the distance he is placing between the two of them. “I know you and your family have suffered a great deal at their hand.” He says with a slight tremor in his voice, clearing his throat to remove the unsteadiness, “all for the name of Lannister.” he says with a sardonic smile.  
  
She sees his lips slightly quiver and feels the desire all the more to reach out to take his hand, to let him know she’s right here. She doesn’t though, because she is not used to this feeling anymore and so she pushes it down, instead moving her hand towards her goblet once more.  
  
“No, you’re right. You’re family has done many wrongs”, she says as she takes a sip of her drink. He looks down again at his plate, releasing a shaky breath and she knows the next words are so essential to whatever relationship it is that they have, “but no matter how awful they were, they were still your family...and families are complicated.” She says with a slight sigh. He looks up to her in shock and she can see the unshed tears in his eyes all the more.  
  
“You may be Lannister yes,” she says with a tone of joking disapproval that makes his lips curve slightly upwards, “but you are the best of them.” She says with a slight grin and finality, sitting back in her chair,folding her hands in front of her like the matter has been settled, the world cannot convince her otherwise.      
  
“I think you are mistaken Sansa,” he says reaching for his goblet, and she notices the shake in his hands. She has to blink away the memory of the shackles they had placed on his wrists when they were at the Dragon Pit. She still remembers the fury she had to swallow from seeing the state the Unsullied had left him in, she takes a breath to remind herself to be present. “I believe you would recall, I have failed on more than one occasion...Living while the rest of my house has died, living with the failure of...” he cannot say the words, it is too painful. Instead he shakes his head. “Living is my punishment” he says voice cracking, taking a sip of his drink, he keeps his eyes on the water for a moment, and it is here she realizes just how broken he is.  
  
He has lost his family, and his confidence. It seems today she will have to take it upon herself to defend him from his own demons. She takes a moment to really look at him, the lines on his brow, his beard that has grown, trimmed neater than his time in captivity and closer so that she can see the outline of his jaw peeking out. She thinks of how far they are from who they were when they sat here years ago.  
  
“ _I am your husband, let me help you_.” He had pleaded once when she was a little bird in a lion’s den years ago, and he was fighting to help her survive. Now he is broken lion surrounded by the pack of wolves. She prayed he would allow her to give him back his pride.  
  
“You are right where you need to be.” She said after a beat of silence. “Many have died Tyrion. Your life is only a punishment if you make it one. Westeros needs you, Bran saw that you are to be his hand. Acknowledge that It has to be of some significance. Know that you are more than your past… that you are aiding the welcoming of a new future.” She says, waiting for him to look at her. “Surely you must know, Lions may have their pride-“  
  
“Yes and look at what pride and arrogance have done to my family.” He cuts her off, meeting her gaze and she can see the raw grief. She will wonder years later if he chose to show her this side of him or if he had lost control for a moment. He may have always been true with her, but there are some parts of him she knows he keeps only to himself.  
  
“There is no one but me left.” He says eyes breaking from hers to look for the wine. She sits back in her chair and observes him. She takes a sip of her goblet when he realizes the servant’s didn’t bring the wine.  
  
“Lions have their pride, Tyrion, but Wolves have their pack.” She says cooly as he reaches for more water. She moves the pitcher closer to him.  
  
“When the winter comes, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” She finishes fixing her gaze on him. Leveling her stare to him so he could catch what she couldn’t say out loud.  
  
  _Don’t isolate yourself. Let me help you._  
  
There is a beat of silence between them as he levels his gaze with hers as well. The air filled with everything left unsaid.  
  
_Why?_  
  
_Do I need a reason?_  
  
_I have nothing_  
  
_You have us._  
  
_I am not worthy._  
  
She thinks of Jon’s confidence in him,  of Arya’s regard towards him, of Bran choosing him, and her trust in him. Yes,  Tyrion has won over the Stark siblings in different ways and they have offered him something of their own. For her, she knows her trust is was what she gave him a long time ago.  
  
_We chose you._  
  
She takes a sip of her water once more sitting back and sharing with him a small grin. She wishes to break the heaviness of this moment. She will not have him like this any longer, not on her watch.  
  
“You know, you were quite clever when we were last here in King’s Landing,” She starts sitting back in her chair, taking another piece of fruit to her lips. “If you need more wine to be clever once more, I’ll convince Bran to increase the wine reserves just for your sake.” She says jokingly. He laughs out rightly at that and she didn’t realize how long it’s been since they’ve both laughed. She revels in the sound, and takes pride in another victory. He’s smiling fully now, and reaches for a piece of fruit as well.  
  
“Thank you, Sansa” He says quietly. She is grateful that there are no servants around, she won’t admit it yet, but she likes this feeling, of them just being themselves. It reminds her of their routine garden walks, the stories they had shared once. _Sheep shift._    
  
She smiles at him, similar to the smile she had given him in the crypt, clear and unguarded. _You were the best of them._  
  
He clears his throat and returns her smile. _What a terrifying thought._  
  
His hand reaches for hers, squeezing them gently to relay his gratitude, and she wonders how it is so easy for him to take her hand in his. He brings her knuckles to his lips but does not linger there as they did in the crypts. She forces whatever feeling she had in her stomach down, and she dares not name it as disappointment.  
  
He takes in a deep breath and lets out a long sigh, grabbing his fork. “I will certainly never deny the option of more wine.” He says, rubbing his hands together with a grin gracing his lips.  
  
“Alright, enough of that. You have convinced me.” He says nodding at her with emphasis as a semi mock bow, she smiles because she can see his wit coming out. “Now let’s eat.” He says smiling at her and making a dramatic motion of putting a piece of venison in his mouth to show her he is actually chewing. She revels in his humor, seeing this Tyrion she recognizes. She misses his confidence, the Lord of wine and witty remarks.  She takes a bite of her own food and adds more to his plate. He nods and stands to reach over to get her the lemon cakes she did not notice. Her heart warms slightly that he remembered her favorites.  
  
She may not have the power of dragons at her disposal, but she knew she had the power to get him to eat again. It is because of this, for the remainder of the days leading up to her brother’s coronation, she arranges for them to have lunch together, overseeing the meal arrangement herself. The Hand of the King would not refuse a meal with her, and being in her company, she knew Tyrion would have to eat.  
  
If anyone had asked why the new Queen of the North took such care of the New Hand’s meals, everyone would say that they were having meetings concerning the preparations for the coronation, or possibly addressing matters of the realm. No one would ever see  that those lunches became an outlet for the both of them. That both were finding solace in one another.  
  
No one would notice the way her hand twitches when he is near, or the way her eyes would soften when he would tell her stories of his childhood, of Jaime and their adventures. No one notice the ease in her smile when they were together, or amusement in her eyes as he told his jokes. No, they would only notice the Lord Tyrion working with more vigor after their lunches, working more efficiently as if the meeting had been productive with more solutions for the realm. They would never care to look to see the grief in his eyes beginning to slowly fade.     
  
 On the day of Bran’s coronation, she does not smile for the public, bearing all the regality of her position, but her eyes beam with pride as Tyrion takes his place beside Bran. She notes the weight he had gained back, looking healthier, livelier, and present in that moment. More than that, she sees the look in his eyes, a confident resoluteness as Bran places the pin on Tyrion’s breast once more, and he turns to face the people.  
  
 He catches her eyes and he gives her a slight nod in acknowledgment.  
  
_Thank you._  
  
She does not move but he has learned to read the smile in her eyes.  
   
On the day she is set to leave for the North, he comes to see her off at the docks. It has been weeks since Arya has gone, more than a month since Jon has gone, and she had said her goodbyes to Bran in his new quarters insisting he does not need to wheel his way down to the docks just for her. He sends Tyrion to see her off in his stead, and a part of her is glad that Tyrion is the last face she’ll see as she leaves King’s Landing.  
  
As they walk towards her ship, she slows down her pace so they could walk alongside each other.  
  
“The pack survives” He says bemusedly. She smirks still looking ahead. It has been weeks since that first conversation, but she catches on immediately.  
  
“Well, we have survived haven’t we?” She replies. He doesn’t look at her, but as she turns to glance at him she sees a smirk grace his lips as well.  
  
“I dare say yes dear Sansa,” he doesn’t take her hand in his, but she feels as if he had.  
  
“I dare say indeed _we_ have.”


	2. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The look he had given her in the crypt behind her father’s statue had shown her just how much he cared, for her, her mind would say but that is the voice she would silence. Either way, in that moment, after seeing that look on his face she made a vow she intended to keep until her last breath.
> 
> I will not be his weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I just wanted to say you guys are awesome! Thank you so much for all the feedback and the love. Being that this is my first fic, your feedback is really appreciated!
> 
> Second - Stay tuned for notes at the end of the chapter - 
> 
> Second P.S. Brownie points for those who get the references listed in this chapter ;)

* * *

 

Years ago, Baelish had asked her how she knew Tyrion wasn’t the one responsible for Joffery’s murder. When he asked why, she had told him she just knew. She did not dare tell Petyr what she was really thinking.

_He’s not like you._

The reality of that thought caught her by surprise because somehow amidst their simple garden walks, and their comfortable silence, she had come to know her husband. She had seen a glimpse even then of the man behind his family’s name, his actions always speaking louder for him than his words ever could.

Even then, she knew she didn’t want Tyrion to have anything to do with Petyr. The farther Tyrion was from him, the better. She was still learning how to play the game then, but she kept the memory of her husband close for hers alone to guard.

She was caught by surprise though, in her journey back to Winterfell, that whenever someone had mentioned her husband’s name, she felt a surge of protectiveness come over her.

_I swore to protect you._

Yes she muses now. Tyrion never did stop protecting her. She figures it is for this reason when she encountered everyone who spoke badly of _“The Imp”_ she would come to his defense in the subtle ways she was still learning then.

_Are you pregnant?_

_What? No I told you, Lord Tyrion and I never-_

_As far as I know you are a Snow, and Lady Sansa is a Bolton, or is she a Lannister? I hear conflicting reports._

_I did what needed to be done, my lady._

_You know him better than anyone, what do you think?_

_Tyrion is not like the other Lannisters, He was always kind to me._

_I thought he knew his sister._

_Families are…complicated._

When she was playing the Game, she learned how important subtleties were. No one noticed the pride in her eyes when Jon announced to the Northern Lords that Tyrion had become hand of the Daenerys. No one realized that in executing Baelish, she had also essentially cleared his name in the North. No, unless one was looking quite closely, no one would notice her moving pieces around to keep him safe, even if they were far apart. No matter what his reputation, she defended him in the little ways she could.

 

She told herself then it was because he was kind to her, and after leaving him in King's Landing, it was the least she could do. After being reunited with him, she told herself it was because it was the honorable thing to do. Today, almost two years after the end of The Great War, she tells herself it is because of duty.  Duty to peace, duty to the respective crowns, duty to their survival, duty to the world they were rebuilding.

 

Somehow throughout the years of playing the game of thrones she could admit that what they had was quite unusual. They  were only together for a brief time and were separated for longer than they were married yet even then Tyrion would most likely say she owes him nothing while he has to make up for everything.

 

_A Lannister always pays his debts_.

 

She knows that when it came to Joffery, Cersi, even to the Dragon queen, he always endeavored to protect her, even though in the eyes of the law, he was no longer responsible for her.

_“You have every right to be fearful of my sister. No one fears her more than I do, but I promise you’ll be safe-“  
_

She allows herself a small grin at the memory. She was sure if she had let him finish his sentiment, he probably would have said something about him personally seeing to her safety not realizing he was at Winterfell and thus was in her territory. If the Lannister army did happen to go North and Cersi was within close proximity she would have most likely been the one sending Podrick to make sure his sister didn’t touch him first, or better yet, send Arya to make sure Cersi was dead before getting within three feet of him. Either way, she would have been the one to make sure he was safe, because it was her duty as Lady of Winterfell. At least that is what she tells herself.

 

She also tells herself that it is _duty_ alone, and _cannot_ be anything more than that. She has of course endeavored to convince herself of other things in the past, but she tries not to think of this as the same.

_It wouldn’t work between us_

_Why not?_

_…Your divided loyalties would become a problem._

He cared too much and that was the issue _then_. During the game, she was sure that would have been his downfall. Unlike the other men in her life, he was too trusting, had much heart, cared too much. The look he had given her in  the crypt behind her father’s statue had shown her just how much he cared - _for her-_ her mind would say but that is a thought she wouldn’t dare entertain. Either way, in that moment, after seeing that look on his face she made a vow she intended to keep until her last breath.

_I will not be his weakness._

That is why she tried to push him away, especially after that night, in the face of the wights and the Dragon Queen. She knew the likelihood of his survival was diminishing every time he made the effort to get close to her. Nevertheless, he was stubborn and would do everything in his power to make sure she was alright.

 

_Sansa, look at me._

 

Now _she_ would make sure he was alright, because that was the _proper_ thing to do.

At least that is another thing she tells herself as she opens another letter from Brienne telling her of the third assassination attempt on Tyrion’s life and Bran requesting her permission to send his Hand North for some “trade negotiations”.

In other words, Bran needs to send Tyrion somewhere he knows is safe while the unrest is resolved and the only place he knows Tyrion can truly be safe is here, with her,  kingdom boundaries be damned. Because even though Tyrion still has trouble accepting the idea that he is part of their pack, it went unsaid that whatever it was that protected them was extended to protect him as well. She shakes her head to herself and begins to write out her reply.

 

_Duty alone indeed._

* * *

She allows a small smile to herself as she walks to the courtyard where his caravan has just arrived. She notices that they decided to pack heavy for this trip, of course to keep up appearances. She notices Podrick giving instructions to the others, and muses that if Brienne chose to send him with Tyrion, they must truly be keeping this close to the chest.

As he exits the caravan she takes the sight of him. On the outside he may seem like he is weary from the journey, but she notices his stiff movements. As he looks up at her she can see his eyes shine with excitement to see her, but also notices the slight look of pain. She masks her features to not only keep up appearances in the eye of the public, but to hide from him that she noticed he is hiding the damage.

She marvels that even after two years he hasn’t learned that matter how hard he tries to he hide his pain from her, she _will_ notice. Frustratingly though, it is not lost on her that after two years, he somehow ends up in pain without her.

 

She chooses not to dwell on the possible implications of that thought.

 

“Your Grace.” he says bowing, his voice bearing all formality but she catches his slight grin before his head is bowed. Both know the formalities are for the sake of the public.

 

“Lord Hand”, she says with a nod in response and as he gets up she can see the mischievous look in his eye. She allows her lips to curve upward slightly. No matter the time, the familiarity between them is not lost, not like last time.

 

“I trust your journey went well” she says as her eyes travel to his whole appearance now that they are closer in proximity. Her eyes narrow as she sees his hands are clenched, and she knows the pain of the injuries he must be masking is worse than she thought.

 

“Oh, it was pleasant your grace,” he stops and give a sigh “just quite long.”  he says seemingly standing a bit taller, but she knows he’s redistributing his weight. She takes a mental note, that marks his shoulder, and his leg, and she wonders what other injury he is sustaining.

 

“Well, no matter, your quarters have been prepared, and I am sure you would like to get some rest.” She says motioning to the servants. “We will be having an honorary dinner to celebrate your safe arrival. Many Northern lords have come to meet you personally, and I expect you would need some time to prepare yourself.” She says her eyes turning back towards him and noticing his small smile. Of course, distance hasn’t changed his ability to read her. He knows exactly what her words imply.

_I'm forcing you to rest you stubborn mule. Deal with it._

She makes another mental note to discuss with him in greater length later the fact that he chose to undertake this journey while sustaining his injuries. For now, no matter how eager he seems to talk with her she is forcing him to rest. Turning to see that the other servants are preoccupied with the shipment, he smiles and gives her a gracious bow.

 

“Thank you my lady.” He says with a light tone almost banks on humorous, but that tells her he knows he won’t be able to argue. Her heart warms a bit at the usage of the title they both know is only for their ears, but she shakes away the feeling. She knows they will be talking in private later, but she is keen on making it clear to him that he is still in trouble with her. She nods in acknowledgment and turns to leave, not missing his small chuckle as she walks away.  

 

* * *

“My Lord?” She says as she reaches his door. He bids her to enter and as she closes the door, her eyes narrow when she turns taking in his appearance. Sitting upright on his bed, tunic lifted to his shoulder with Podrick at his side working on rewrapping the bandages the are to run the length of his chest, shoulder and forearm, his brows are lifted at her as if anticipating her rebuke.

“My Lady.” He says lightly, with nod not even trying to hide his injuries this time, not after the events at the honorary dinner.

“If it was not understood from my last raven to you, and it somehow passed over your head with the looks I was giving to you during the banquet tonight, I would like to reiterate my last sentiment.” She says as she walks towards him in front of his bed so they are across one another. He gazes at her with an amused  look as she folds her hands in front of her and lifts her chin.

 

 "And that is?" He says drawing out the last word. 

 

“You sir, are an _idiot_ ” She says succinctly.

 

He is unfazed from his place on the bed and doesn’t need to turns his eyes to Podrick to know he is ducking his head to hide his smile. 

 

“Did you hear that Podrick?” He says his eyes not leaving hers, “According to the Queen, I am officially the idiot of _both_ the North and South” he finishes while chuckling, looking at her to placate her souring mood. “Though in my defense your grace, I think all of us in this room can safely say that those _looks_ you were giving me were more like _glares_ , and not very subtle at that” He says motioning with his index finger to emphasize his point giving a light chuckle. She takes a moment to gather her composure and looks to the side in frustration before turning to him to address him once more.

“This is not a laughing matter.” She says.

“Really? Because I for one think it to be hilarious.” He says wincing slightly as Podrick wraps the bandage around his chest. She glares at him once more and turns to Podrick.

“Ser Podrick, tell me the extent of his injuries, and the situation in the South. Do not leave anything out.” She says giving him a cool look, and Tyrion has to put his other hand on Podrick’s giving him his own look of _don’t you dare._ If he wasn’t seriously hurt, she would have laughed at the fact both men turned to her at the same time after a silent exchange, but alas this was a serious matter and Podrick’s fear of the Queen won.

“Well, your Grace” he starts and Tyrion leans back against the headboard knowing he’s lost. “The rebels had decided to take a more strategic manner of trying to assassinate Lord Tyrion,” he then looks apologetically at Tyrion and Tyrion is outright ignoring him in a fit.

“During the celebration of the completion of the rebuilding of the new Sept, they decided to poison his drink, but only so that many thought his strange behavior was due to plain drunkenness,” He says averting his gaze and focusing on the bandages again because now she is giving Tyrion a pointed look, “to which one of their men, who was pretending to be a server, volunteered to help Lord Tyrion. They drew their knife discreetly, and ended up stabbing him in the shoulder”. He says cutting the bandage and reaching for some makeshift ointment for the pain.

 

“We believe they were aiming for slitting his neck, but they missed, miscalculating Lord Tyrion’s supposed drunken state.” He said chancing a look up to see the Queen’s reaction and noticing she is just looking at Tyrion now, he was still avoiding her gaze using his free hand fiddling with the blanket instead. “Realizing they had missed their chance, of course with Lord Tyrion pulling away, they tugged on his arm in hopes of aiming for his neck once more, but instead, ended up dislocating his arm which gave Ser Brienne enough time to reach him.” He says head ducking and feeling the atmosphere of the room change. He finishes with the ointment, helps Tyrion put his tunic back down, and sits back.

 

“But they did not stop your Grace. While he was in recovery,  more of their group attempted to assassinate him again while he was in the rooms, but Ser Bronn had caught on to the breach in security. They only succeeded in breaking two of Lord Tyrion’s ribs  and spraining his knee before he intervened.” He finishes with a low tone and tenses as Sansa closes her eyes to take in a deep breath.

 

“And that is why Bran set forth for this journey so quickly, without giving him a chance to recover” she says with a measured voice, keeping her emotions in check still looking at Tyrion, “ because they were willing to take a chance even while Lord Tyrion was recovering.” she says with a nod and turns to Podrick. “Would you give us a moment alone Ser Podrick?”

 

“Gladly your majesty” He says shooting Tyrion on last apologetic look while bowing and leaving quickly. Once the door is closed she takes a seat on the chaise in front of his bed. He meets her gaze and offers her a small smile.

 

“You know,” he starts off and she can already hear the tone he has when he is about to say something witty. “I wouldn’t have made quite a scene at dinner tonight, if that Lord what’s-his-face, didn’t grab my arm, clamp on my shoulder, and bump into me so hard to emphasize the point of his story.” He says lifting his chin ever so slightly.  “I do say, if he wasn’t trying so  hard to impress you with that story of his, i would have been successful in keeping this a secret.” He says with a light laugh to try and lighten her mood, but she is unmoving, giving him a scoff instead.

 

“No, I believe it was the guest of honor _fainting_ because of the pain that made quite the scene.” She says flatly. To which he winces. “Also, you flatter yourself my Lord.” She says wiping some imaginary dirt off his blanket. “Your sudden keeling over in pain didn’t give you away… I already knew of your injuries the moment you greeted me in the courtyard.” She says smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on the bed. “Besides, did you really think you would have been able to hide this from me?” She says folding her hands in her lap, returning her eyes to him. His own eyes soften with an expression she cannot, no- _will not-_ , name.

 

“No, you’re right. To say otherwise would be an insult to your cleverness” He says, voice softening, hands moving to his lap and she notices his fidgeting.

“Besides, we both know I could never hide anything from you”. He says looking at his hands before giving her a small smile. She sighs and gets up from the chaise and moves to the chair Podrick had previously occupied next to him. She settles in the seat and levels a softened gaze on him.

 

“We write to each other every month,” she starts, “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me how bad it had gotten in your letters, especially since the first assassination attempt was almost a year ago.” She says smoothing out her skirt. Yes her hands are becoming fidgety now and she hates herself for it.

 

“Tell me why it had to escalate to this scale for the news to reach me Tyrion.” She moves the chair closer towards him to emphasize her point. “I want to know what is going on…” She wants to say _what happens to you_ but she does not yet know if that is acceptable. 

 

Instead she looks at his hand wanting to reach for it but chooses to move the ointment closer to him. It might be over two years since their daily lunches, but she still doesn’t know how to cross that boundary. Even though she’s willing to admit it now that a small part of her wants to, she would only admit it to herself. She has to clench her hands folded in her lap so he won’t notice the twitch. He hums in response and winces to try and sit up more against the headboard.

 

“I didn’t say anything because being Queen of the North means you have more than enough preoccupying your mind, and I did not want to contribute to what is on your plate.” He says putting a hand to his rib wincing trying to find a better position. “Besides, you needn’t be concerned for my welfare, I am merely Hand of the King, and clearly dispensable.” He says like it’s so simple while trying to move closer to the edge of the bed in his position. They always meet each other halfway. She moves, he moves, it was alway about matching their pace with one another. 

 

Her gaze is on his bandaged arm and she has to blink away the thought that the rebels were close to succeeding in taking his life. She scoffs softly to herself at the irony of what his statement implies.

 

_I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be distracted._

In more familiar words, _I don’t want to be your weakness._

She knew Baelish was a man ruthless in the game, selling her for his gain no matter his professed love for her. The man in front of her on the other hand has said nothing of that sort towards her but she knows with every fiber of her being that he would always  be selfless in matters concerning her.

 Yes, it was subtle and no one else might have seen it but she knows even on his potential deathbed he aimed to protect her in a way by avoiding being a burden to her.

It’s this moment she entertains the thought that maybe, just maybe, he would be a burden she would prefer to have rather than be without. 

With that thought in mind, after a moment, she places a hand on the bed, somewhere in between the two of them.

She knows she cannot cross that distance between them just yet, she still bears the scars of the last man trampled on every sense of her boundaries, but she can’t help to just try for him in this state. Bandaged, bruised and all, she tries, her hand between them grabbing the blanket slightly.

 

“Don’t _ever say that again…_ or _do_ that again.” She says quietly looking at her hand on the bed trying to be collected but hating how vulnerable she sounds.  He chuckles and moves his hand from his lap next to him, a short distance from hers.

 

“Do or say what my lady?” He says his own voice matching her volume, turning his gaze towards her trying to catch her eyes. She still isn’t looking at him, but she knows he doesn’t completely mind because it’s been almost two years since they have had the chance to be alone. Their correspondence doesn’t do justice to being in front of each other. Whether it was talking about business or talking about personal matters, she knows the feeling of missing each other’s company is mutual.

 

“Say your dispensable…” She says looking at her hands, “and be a hero,” she says inching her hands just a tad bit closer to his. It might not have been much but she knows he noticed because he does the same, moving his hand a little closer to hers. “hiding details like that to save me from what you perceive to be an inconvenience ’.”

 

_You are never an inconvenience to me._

She dares not say aloud but hopes he can understand that she means it.

 

After a beat of silence, “Allow me to be concerned for your welfare.” She says again moving her hands just a tad bit closer.

 

“Why?” He asks softly. She can still feel his gaze on her. She looks up to meet his eyes and it’s been too long since they’ve sat across from one another. The flutter in her stomach and the ache in her hands are too much for her, but she doesn’t know how to continue with words. She just looks at him.

_Because._

_Because?_

Honestly, she doesn’t have the words yet to express fully whatever it is she is feeling but he knows. She doesn’t know how but he _always_ knows.

 

So instead of pressing her further, after a moment he quietly closes the distance between their hands and she sighs, feeling like she’s failed him somehow. As he runs a thumb over her knuckles, bringing it to his lips, still holding on after as if he is saying _it’s alright,_ and for that she is grateful. He just shakes his head and purses his lips in contemplation.

 

“I will do as the lady of the house wishes.” He says setting their hands back on the bed but not breaking away offering her a small smile. _It’s there_ she thinks, but both of them are not ready to acknowledge it yet. There is still too much to be done, many expectations to fulfill, much to rebuild, too much at stake but _it’s there_.

 

“Good.” She says, returning the small smile, it’s the first relaxed smile she’s offered him all evening and he laughs in return.

 

This unspoken thing between them, a bond of sorts, an _importance_ of sorts.

 

_I put my cloak of protection over you._ He once said

_I will always defend you._ She vows.

 

For now, they settle here. Their protectiveness of each other, this unspoken duty that borders something both are still too afraid to name, but for now moment’s like these are enough. It’s subtle, but it’s theirs. In the end they both welcome the comfortable silence that follows after, it’s so familiar she finds relief in it, even welcomes it, relishes it and vows to protect _this -him-_ all the more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third: I just wanted to give an extra thank you for everyone who waited. I wanted to set the pace for the rest of the story with this chapter. I hope it did not disappoint. 
> 
> I am also just now getting into the books, so I will be exploring some of the Sanrion dynamic into this fic, but it will be predominately TV-based. I thought the subtleties within their interactions, the time spans, and etc had enough to explore for the two parts of the series I have in mind, but their book interactions are so rich, I can't not want to dip my toes in it too. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think ;) 
> 
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/pearofanons


	3. Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While playing the game, she learned that kindness could be one’s greatest strength or many could use it as their enemy’s greatest weakness.
> 
> Never in all her days did she ever expect that kindnesses could be the current source of her greatest frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All~ 
> 
> First: I just want to say that you guys are AWESOME. Thank you for the wonderful feedback!~ Truly. 
> 
> Second: I shall apologize with great fervor for the delay. I was so sure that this chapter was going to be released sooner than the first update because it practically wrote itself (I even promised so in the comments) - BUT MAN GUYS- just the care of going into each portion of this took forever. I know for me this chapter really challenged me in many ways especially with it being a big driving force for the story. It definitely inspired A LOT for Tyrion POV work I have up my sleeve (Part 2 of the series), and I just had to be sure I got the right trajectory going. 
> 
> So I hope you can forgive me and I hope that this will be worth the wait. 
> 
> More notes for after the chapter. For now I hope you guys enjoy~

* * *

 

While playing the game, she learned that kindness could be one’s greatest strength or many could use it as their enemy’s greatest weakness.

Never in all her days did she ever expect that kindnesses could be the current source of her greatest frustration. It wasn’t immediate, but looking in hindsight, it the weight of it caught her by surprise.

 

The first time she felt it was almost two weeks into Tyrion’s arrival. After that night of addressing his injuries she subjected him to bed rest for a week. Whatever makeshift trade agreement they needed to discuss could wait till after he could stand upright without pain.

Of course, bring the stubborn mule she knows he is, he lasted only five days before demanding books be sent to his room to keep him from insanity, then another 3 days before demanding to walk the castle without accompaniment. As a compromise she allowed him to wander the castle with Podrick by his side so long as Podrick reported to her everything.

After the eleventh day, she was able to catch a break between the council meetings and decided to seek him out, only to find him by the storage area they had placed all the crates he had brought with him.

As she approached, she took in his appearance, still weighing on one foot, she notes he refused the crutch. He stated in an earlier argument that he refuses to subject himself to a cane that would age him twenty years for the sake of recovery, again to which she reiterated his stubbornness does more harm than good. As she approaches she does notice his choice of wardrobe and is delighted that he fits so well in it. She also notices Ser Podrick isn’t around, but before she can ask him about it she hears him counting to himself.

“What are you doing?” She says as she approaches him. He turns to give her a smile with a mischievous glint in his eye, the same one she saw when he first arrived.

“Ah, My Lady,” her heart warms a little on the inside at the way he says the title. He always seems to say that title quite softly towards her, especially when it is just them two, she muses that it is something _only_ for them two.  It may be your grace for the public but between them, it’s always my lady.

“I - ” he starts looking up at her for emphasis. “am making a list.” He says finishing the sentence with a bright smile. He must be in a good mood then. She smiles at the reference to another list earlier in her memory.

 

_I have a list_

 

_A list of people you mean to kill?_

 

_For laughing at me? Do I look like Joffrey to you?_

 

“Oh?” she says her brows arching and a small smile playing on her lips. He always draws out a certain joy from her.

 

“Yes, a list.” he says nodding at the crates, “By the way, I wanted to say thank you as well for the fresh clothes. They fit me quite well.”

 

“You’re welcome” She says and she notes the affection in his smile. He turns his head back to the crates seeming to count again as she comes up next to him so they are standing side by side.

“I’d recognize your needle work anywhere” He says after a moment, and she turns to look to see the light expression in his eyes. Her lips curve upward slightly and turns her head to the crates to see better see he is counting.

 

“Well my lord, let it be our secret then. There are only few people who wear my needlework.” She says giving him a brief glance, lifting her chin a bit taking pride in her handiwork.

 

“Thank you... truly.” He starts giving her a glance while stepping closer to some of the crates. “It must have taken you some time.” He says tugging the fur by the collars to make himself a little warmer. She just shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly in response. She doesn’t tell him that she had started it back when she heard he was first coming to Winterfell with the Dragon Queen, knowing he wouldn’t fare well with the cold. She just wasn’t brave enough to give it to him at that time, plus there was too many things hanging over their heads, and when he left, wasn’t sure if she would ever get the chance to give it. For this trip up though, she just added a few embellishments to celebrate his status as Hand of the King, but that was her little secret. Her favorite part was the lion on one collar with the direwolf on the other. Something about it on him just seemed right to her.

 

“Well,” He says moving to sit on a crate while facing her. “I-,” he seems keen on drawing out his words today again she notes, happy mood indeed, “-got you a gift as well” he says smiling. He settles on a crate and taps it. “Care to take a guess?”

 

“You mean guess which crate it’s in?” She says lifting an brow but she can feel a full smile coming on. The banter just seems natural with him.

 

“No” He says drawing out the word. His own brow lifting and a smile gracing his features. He leans back in the makeshift seat, back against another crate, and she can’t help but notice how at ease he seems, how the pain in his eyes has lifted, she’s glad for the recovery. “It’s in the crates.” He says, now a full fledge smirk gracing his lips.

 

“What? In _all_ the crates?” She says incredulously moving forward to place a hand on one crate. They were all sealed.  “I thought these were just to keep up appearances that you weren’t traveling for recovery?”

 

“Yes and no.  The crates idea was suggested by Ser Davos for the sake of keeping up appearances to make it look like the attempt at my life did nothing, but I couldn’t waste the opportunity for the free transportation of my gift” He says moving to the edge of the crate to be closer to her. “Besides, the King didn’t mind, so,” He says once again drawing out the vowel and knocking at the side of the crate next to him for emphasis “-care to take a guess?” He says his tone again laced with excitement pausing at each word for emphasis.

 

“How about you open a crate and show me instead.” She says, a playful glint showing in her own eyes. He nods his head in response and gets up slowly to nudge a crate top slightly open. Being ever dramatic he moves his arms in a sweeping motion so she can lean over and check.

When she looks in the crate her breath hitches.

 

_Lemons_

 

She lifts her eyes to his and has to keep herself from the full bearing her teeth smiling but she sees him looking closely to gauge her reaction. She takes a step back to count the crates. Certainly he wasn’t serious, he couldn’t have filled _all_ the crates.

As if reading her mind, he smiles all the more brightly seeing her expression at her and nods.

 

_Yes, I meant all the crates_.

 

He stands up to move closer to her and she is fully aware of how easy it would be to place her hand on his shoulder, she doesn’t though.

 

"Why are there so many?" She asks after clearing her throat and trying to mask her features but he can still see the excitement, the happiness in her eyes.

 

"I remembered from your letter you saying that you miss lemon cakes the most… of course aside from your family, so I brought the only thing I could fit in the crates…Plus, lemons equal lemon cakes so, it seemed like simple enough endeavor to bring you some sort of comfort when you see me” he says it like it’s a simple mathematics equation.

 

“And this is what you were so excited about to show me when you first arrived?” She asks incredulously.

 

“Oh? Was my excitement that obvious?” He replies sheepishly.

 

“…But I mentioned that in one of my first letters to you..." She says her voice trailing off quietly.

 

"Yes. I know” He starts, moving a bit closer and she is suddenly aware of the space between them closing all the more. Her hand is so close to his shoulder, she has to tell herself to stop focusing on it,  “…I’ve kept them all." He finishes quietly.

“All?” She hates how her voice breaks a little. It’s one word, how hard could it be to just say it out straight?

“Yes… all your letters” He starts looking at her expression closely “…is that so surprising?" He says quietly “… that I kept all your letters?” He finishes while looking up to try to catch her eyes, to which she turns to him and just stares.

 

_Two years worth of letters and he kept them all._

 

She’s so caught off guard she doesn’t even realize she says her next words until after they escape her lips.

“How _kind_ of you.” She says, to which his brows furrow in response.

 

“Yes, I try my best...to be… _kind_.”  he says with a small grin, tone bearing a tint of confusion, and she can't blame him, because she is confused at her own words.

The silence that follows after is both a blessing and a curse because it takes her so long to gather her thoughts it that a servant calls her to tell her it’s time to continue the council meeting. All she can offer him is one last look before excusing herself, he only nodding in acknowledgment, but she can feel his eyes on her as she leaves the room.

 

_He brought me lemons_

 

Later she’ll wonder why that simple kind gesture left her so flustered, and why it invades her thoughts in the middle of the night, stealing sleep from her gently.

* * *

 

The next time she feels this way, it’s about five weeks into his stay.

With all the crates that he’s brought, she knows they would have a stock of lemons for a few months, and in delight she realizes she could treat herself with lemon cakes for multiple occasions. _With moderation of course._ She curses the fact that she can still hear Aunt Lysa’s voice in the back if her head.

What catches her by surprise is the fact that Tyrion took this into consideration, and not only allotted her a specific portion, but allotted a portion for the close and personal attendants.

 

 “ _I reasoned they should have a taste of something good from the South, why not the delicacy that never fails to put a smile on your face?”_ He told her simply during one of their dinners.

 

_“Plus you get to have lemon cakes on your name day” he says beaming quietly._

 

For that she is grateful.

So on her name day, they serve lemon cakes in the great hall. It definitely leaves her in a joyous mood, but seeing the smiles of her people  indulging themselves in this Southern delicacy for the first time, laughing over a simple cake exuding joy leaves a gratefulness in her chest she didn't know she could feel. In his thoughtfulness, Tyrion's gift granted her favorite cakes on her nameday _and_ made her people happy.

 

_He thought to make her people happy._

 

She feels as if her smile from that thought alone lasts for weeks and has difficulty hiding it.

* * *

 

The feeling comes again at around the three month mark.

By three months, his recovery has been in full and he requests to her that he be able to travel around the Northern villages surrounding Winterfell. She of course grants him request so long as Podrick is with him, and she doesn’t think much of it.

That is until some accusations about him going into town frequently are voiced during one of her meetings and many of the Northern Lords are questioning his integrity.

 

_He is living up to his reputation as The Imp your Grace. What does that say about his intentions here in the North? One must be wary of such men._

 

 A migraine develops at their pettiness.

 

_Surely a guest in the North, as well as the Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, should conduct himself more appropriately!_

_If he's only come to leisure himself Your Grace, surely he doesnt have to do it at Winterfell's expense._

 

She does not doubt him, she had made a vow to defend him, but their insistence leads her to curiosity as to their adamance so she decides to bring it up during one of their private dinners.

“They say you are visiting the whorehouses.” She says while bringing her goblet up to her lips and he looks up from his plate.

 

“Oh? Who? _Whom?_ ” He says coolly across from her, clearly not troubled at all.

 

“Some of the Northern Lords.” She says setting down her goblet and cutting a piece of meat.

 

“Ha. The same ones who are worried about my proximity to you I’m sure.” He says reaching across the table for the pitcher, making a motion to refill her cup.  “Already sticking their nose in my business, but not surprised, especially with a political marriage at the forefront of their minds.” He says with a scoff after taking a sip of wine.

 

“...So it’s true?” She says trying to mask the surprise. 

 

He smiles, and seeing his demeanor she knows it’s not for the reason everyone thinks but if he makes a comment about maintaining his standards of perversion she feels like she’s going to have a fit.

 

“You should come with me one time.” He says after a moment and she looks up to see humor in his eyes.

 

“…to a brothel?” She asks brows furrowing. He nods and puts his utensils down.

 

“You’d be surprise at the stories of the women there. In fact I was shocked when a girl as young as fourteen had been...advertising...to me in the market.” He says folding his hands in front of him on the table. “Imagine my surprise when she felt like she’d have to offer her services to a _half-man_. Curious, I decided to ask her she felt such desperation to call me into her bed and found out many children are in the same situation.” He says while looking at her imploringly.  “Some of these girls are just trying to feed themselves, or their younger siblings, feeling like they have no other option. They lost parents, brothers in the war.” He looks across the table to her, eyes serious.

 

“No one, especially no honor bound Northerner girl, should feel like they have to sell their body at _fourteen_ to save their family.” At those words her whole body stills and she understands his intentions all the more clearly.

 

_How old are you exactly?_

_Fourteen._

_Well… talking won’t make you any older._

It takes her a moment to gather her thoughts, but the memory resounds.

 

_Fourteen._

 

His eyes soften and he puts his drink down to stare at her straight in the face.

 

“Sansa… I assure you, that is the _only_ reason I am visiting those brothels.” He says leaning forward and she knows if she had her hands on the table he would probably be reaching for her hand. “I only go to give coin to the children who need food. I no longer partake in those...” he can’t find the words but he takes a sip of wine to finish the thought “...I would never do you the dishonor…as a guest of the Queen, and as Hand to your brother.” He says eyes imploring.

 

_I would never betray your trust._

She knows of course. This thing between them, this importance that has yet to be named, is something she knows both feel needs to be protected. Yes there is this sense of duty but as she meets his gaze she can’t stop the words from escaping her lips. 

 

“Is that the only reason?” It comes out a little above a whisper, and she inwardly berates herself for the slip.

 

“I am not who I was my lady,” he starts of cooly going back to his plate, “I intend to keep my vows.” He says like it’s nothing, going back to cut his piece of venison and she is floored.

 

_Vows?_

She knows he has made vows to be a better man, to right the wrongs, pay penance for his shortcomings. He's always mentioned it since naming Bran king.

 

That doesn’t stop her thoughts though from crossing over another set of vows, spoken a lifetime ago.

 

_I promise you one thing my lady, I wont ever hurt you._

_One heart, one flesh, one soul. Forever._

 

She does not ask for any further clarification tonight but as she picks up her fork to continue eating. She can’t help feel like there is something _fluttering_ in her stomach and it _bothers_ her for the rest of the night.

* * *

 

Four and a half months into his stay, A snow storm has been brought upon them and she keeps the gates open to those who might need shelter.

She’s with her people of course overlooking the courtyard from her place at the inner rampart. She never expected him to be right in the center of the courtyard, distributing bread, and instructing the people where to go.

They have to hold an emergency meeting and some of the Lords who happen to be finding refuge in Winterfell voice their disagreement with Tyrion’s opinions on the food rationing.

They call him names and he lets them.  He never fights back, although she has to clench her own hands to keep her anger on behalf of him in check. They call him a coward hiding behind titles, and he doesn’t retaliate, but instead reminds them that with this influx of people they should focus their energy _on_ the people, not on him. So he says he is willing to spend out of his own pocket to feed her people, encouraging the Northern Lords to get off their political high horse and do the same.

In the end, when she sees him back in the courtyard, giving bread to little children, dirt on his face, hair tousled, wearing that fur she made for him probably freezing his arse off because she knows how much he _hates the cold_ , she can’t help but notice her breath hitch at the sight of him the embodiment of kind.

She tells herself it's the cold- but by now she is starting to know better.

 

* * *

 

At six months they’ve gotten rather busy.

Once he hit his half year mark at Winterfell, she knew Tyrion was getting restless. The situation in the South not getting any better, and according to Brienne’s last raven, Bran has sent her to make rounds to the other six Kingdoms to weed out the other factions of the rebels to prevent an uprising.

 

Bran in turn also warns Sansa that word has spread that Tyrion is still in the North, so they must be careful. Tyrion is in a precarious situation, bearing the Lannister name, playing a part in the death of the Dragon Queen, being Hand to the new King. Many are grasping at someone to blame for their situations post war and many deem him fit to fill the role, especially those of the East who have stayed in Westeros.

 

In the end, they both feel like they have so much work to do to keep the peace. Tyrion begins to work remotely from Winterfell avidly sending ravens to the counsel for all that he’s missed during recovery and with the storm. She in turn, feels like she has to establish ears and eyes around the borders of the North to make sure rebels do not infiltrate their borders, or dare get close to Winterfell.

She will not have another War in the North so soon after the Great war, and so preventive measures are on her list of priorities. He in turn feels like he has much to make up for so he piles on the paperwork. He starts working in the library past dinner, she spends more time in her solar going through reports and letters, sunlight designated towards the North's rebuilding, the night towards fortifying their borders.

 

Soon, it’s been almost been two weeks since their last dinner together, and after she realizes this it’s only then she admits, she misses his company.

 

One night, after she has retired to her room, having had dinner sent to her quarters as well as making sure to order some food to be sent to wherever Tyrion has currently holed himself in at the moment, she takes a mental note to have some sort of makeshift office prepared for him if he is to be working from Winterfell. That way she knows where to have the servants bring his food, and also notes that she is getting used to the idea of him staying. While taking down said notes and overlooking a letter from the Eyrie she is caught by surprised at the knock on her door.

After she bids entry, she looks up and the sight of him, balancing a plate in one hand, cup in another, holding papers in-between his lips, makes her smile. Nudging the door closed with his foot, he goes to sit across from her at her table.

 

“Yes?” She says lifting a brow. He simply puts the papers to the side, his plate down, and takes his seat, overlooking her own plate nodding to himself.

 

“I knew you’d be too busy to eat, considering evening is the only time you have the opportunity to overlook the letters concerning the border situation, so I decided, someone has to make sure you don’t starve.” He starts settling in his seat, moving his chair closer to the table. “Clearly I was right, since your food is untouched.” He says grabbing the utensils on the side nodding in her direction so she can do the same. She puts down the letter and smiles as he continues his explanation.

 

“But then again, I am certainly not one to judge because even though I know you had sent food for me, I also would have been too engrossed in my work to touch it.” He says grabbing a napkin and setting in his lap “so I figured, we would both have a higher chance of not wasting away and working if we were in the same room, since you would force me to eat, and I would reciprocate.” He says with a grin, reaching for the wine. She's smiling and can only shake her head in response, before grabbing her fork.

They spend the rest of the night with barely any conversation, sparing occasional glances to the other to make sure they were eating before going back to the paperwork. It becomes quite the productive night and although it goes unsaid, she knows the feeling is mutual.

_I missed you._

 

She feels a _warmth_ , and she _knows_ it's because of _him_.

* * *

 

Around the eighth month she begins to notice the change within herself.

Whatever this was between them, she knows it is growing stronger. If one can call it fondness then she will admit she is fond of him, but she will not admit to anyone that she is starting to look forward to spending time with him more, especially in the mundanes of what they do together. She considers herself silly for such a thought.

She does though get a little braver. She tries to reciprocate in little ways similar to how he has been kind to her before.

Personally fixing his plate more, passing him his wine, a hand on the shoulder as she passes by while he is sitting down, but never reaching for his hand, she knows that is a bit to intimate and she is not that brave _yet_. No that is only a line he alone crosses, but not often. He always handles her with care.

Dinner becomes second nature. Even if they are busy with paperwork, letters, correspondence and reports, it has become automatic she muses, both eating across from one another, content without much conversation, bent on tackling their work.

This thing between them has also become even more fluid. She is amazed at how in tune they have become by just being in each other’s presence. His deep sigh expressing his wordless satire, extracting a chuckle from her and they both look up from their paperwork to share a smile. The way that she unconsciously sets her cup down a certain way when it's almost at the last drop and he knows she needs a refill, reaching for the pitcher immediately. When his hand is dangling in the air as he is about to lean his cheek into his hand lets her know he’s confused and she knows to asks what’s wrong. Even the servants know that both the Lord Hand and the Queen are working overtime in her solar, so they automatically leave extra ink wells, two portions of food, with extra parchment for the both of them.

Once Tyrion catches her reaching her limit, he bids her to go to bed and gets up to leave, leaving the paperwork behind, the servants knowing to collect it and deliver it to the library the next morning. Any rumors about their proximity towards one another in her quarters are quashed by the amount of papers the servants have to carry out of the room in the morning, many of their close attendants voicing out their concern for the wellbeing of them both.

It’s gotten rather domestic really, this rhythm between them that has developed, and she realizes that she likes the feeling of working with someone. Of having someone _there,_ someone being _present._ She muses that before Tyrion's arrival in Winterfell, she had forgotten what it was like to just enjoy a person's presence without it being tied to political motives. Two years in the North without family or close friends would do that to a person.

 

So one particular day, she has the servants make arrangements for a special dinner spread and she knows he notices.

 

“Is there a reason why the servants have placed so much food on the table that I fear my letters to Ser Davos will stain?” He says with a chuckle looking at her as he settles into his seat across from her.

 

“It’s your name day.” She says shuffling her own papers aside.

 

“Ah. I wasn’t aware we were celebrating.”

 

“And why ever not?”

 

The silence she is met with tells of her that there are things weighing on his mind they haven’t reached the place yet to share. She looks up to see him with a faraway expression, and she knows he’s lost in his memories. She also knows the danger of staying in the past too long, so after a breath while she brings him back.

 

“If you refuse to celebrate, think of it then as a special dinner of sorts. Just to commemorate the little things,” She starts and clears her throat “…like getting past the most recent issue between Ser Bronn and Ser Davos.” _Like living,_ she wants to say but chooses for a lighter approach instead. He nods his head reaching for the wine.

 

“True… certain things are worth the acknowledging.” He says taking a slow sip of his wine. She smiles into her cup. _Too easy._

 

“And what are you willing to acknowledge tonight, my lord?” She says lifting a brow.

_Braver indeed little bird._

He coughs into his cup and she dares call the tint on his cheeks a blush. His gaze returns to her and she noticed him drumming his fingers at the edge of the table. It takes him a beat before he responds.

 

"That I...am not _...alone_." He says after a beat, clearing his throat and with a small smile the sentence almost sounding like a question. She grins to herself that can't seem to meet her eye, his shyness makes her feel empowered. She is in awe at the admission though, remembering how far he's come from that first day she caught him isolating himself in the gardens planning Bran's coronation, to dare she say, _integrating_ himself here at Winterfell. She raises her cup in a toast.

 

“Then here's to _not_ being alone." She says with mirth.

 

"Here here" He says raising his cup chuckling in return.

 

As they continue to eat, they settle into a familiar rhythm. Both proceed to agree that tonight there will be no talk of work, so they talk about trivial things that have gotten their attention around Winterfell as of recent.

 

_I see Lord what's-his- face chose to visit  Winterfell again_

_Stop, he has a name you know._

_Yes yes, but tell me, could he be any more obvious_? Clearly he has affections for you.

 

_Be nice._

_Fine, but only to his face. Don’t expect me to not make comments behind closed doors…On more pressing matters, Have you noticed Podrick and...?_

 

_Jeyne_.

 

_Yes...remind me to check up more on her._

 

_Oh stop. She is a friend. It was bound to happen, especially with the amount of time they spend fussing over us._

_Yes. Good point, but still. I care for Pod you know, he does put up with me._

_Yes I agree, few have the patience to deal with your stubborn streak. I do hope he acts appropriately towards her._

_Well, if it's serious then we shall see if dear Pod has it in him to win her over._

 

It's comfortable between them, this lull and It is well after dessert that he stops and gives her a smile that catches her off guard.

 

"Yes?" She asks meeting his smile full on and bringing her cup to her lips.

 

“Thank you..." He starts moving his goblet in front of him holding it between both his hands. She raises her brow to have him continue. "For tonight." _For celebrating with me._ She knows. 

_I wouldn’t have it any other way._

 

It’s then that she realizes she likes celebrating _him,_ and for once by some miracle, _he lets her_.

She allows her thoughts to wander that night after dinner, when she is alone in her bed.

She may be brave but there is still a line she is learning to approach. She figures that he knows, that’s why he lets her meet him where she can, especially in the small things like tonight. It’s as if he knows she needs time, because they are rebuilding more than just Westeros, they are slowly rebuilding themselves.

With that thought in mind, she wonders why that night in the recesses of her memory, her mother’s words echo.

 

_We built it brick by brick._

* * *

Nine months they receive the first report of unrest in the North and she is livid.

She wonders how they could get so close to Winterfell past the Eyrie without receiving word and she knows Robin is to blame. Good thing for him, it was a minor oversight, a small band of trade pirates who bore Lannister sigil to carry blame on Tyrion's name throughout the North but after further insight bore no relation. At this rate, she knows it is only a matter of time before someone begins to say something to Tyrion, or worse, he'll start to blame himself.

 

In the end, it is still one of the first breeches of security in the North so the Northern Lords gather to formulate how this new nation must proceed with such situations. So it takes a month for the Northern Lords to gather at Winterfell to hold a general assembly with their Queen to address the issue.

 

It turns out, the meetings - _debates_ \- last for _weeks_ and she is _exhausted._

 

The talks of land lines, jurisdictions, house hierarchy and varying opinions on how justice is to be implemented, took up the first two weeks. Peace has lifted the urgency of dealing with matters and yet she muses that she still has to feed them for their extended stay.  The next weeks turns into a whole debate with the North’s involvement in Southern affairs, this current issue with the trade pirates included. 

There has been no agreement. Some are tired of fighting, _we've just finished fighting their war, let us leave matters alone_ , _they are no longer our concern,_ others deem fighting must be done, _show them the strength of the North, we may be small but we are resilient_. What blindsides her is somehow around the fourth week in the middle of one discussion, the matter of marriage is brought up.

“Your Grace, if I may, I think this is the perfect opportunity to discuss not only the state of the North’s current security, but also that of it’s future.” She remembers this is Lord Vynn, outspoken but from a less prominent house.

 

“In what way?” She replies in all her regalia.

 

“The matter of your potential marriage your Grace.” She tenses and she dares not look over to where Tyrion sits.

“I do not think that is something we need to discuss presently when there are other priorities we need to consider.” She replies cooly moving forward in her chair. To the average eye, she is as composed as ever, but she folds her hands in her lap so they don’t see her hands clenching to keep herself in check. It amazes her that no matter the years that pass, it seem like everyone feels they have a right will to marry her off for their own sense security. She may have their respect but it doesn't change the fact that even if she is their queen, she is still a _woman_. 

 

“Forgive me your grace but I beg to differ. We are currently in the second Great assembly of the North and I think the lords share their sentiment in confirming if you are open to the idea of marriage. It has been three years since you took the throne your grace and we are all just thinking for the sake of the North’s security.”

_“_ Rest assured Lord Vynn, I am open to the prospect of marriage, but at the moment I do not see it as a pressing matter.”

 

“Your Grace, if I may, I think it is of _some_ consideration to begin the conversation at least. We are talking about the security of the North and the sooner it is settled, the sooner the North will feel like has been an established kingdom.” She knows this much is true, and so she relents.

“…Very well. I will allows us to open that conversation,” Her eyes canvas the room, and she sees Tyrion on the side, an echo of his stance during Jamie’s own trial. The whole room has their eyes on her but it seems she can only feel his. It certainly feels like a trial, but she cares not for their scrutiny, only his.  She turns back to address Lord Vynn, if they are going to start this game, then start they shall. “but who would you say is the ideal candidate for a prospective marriage to the Northern crown? Surely a marriage to the crown garners an advantage for most, but one must also consider what the candidate can contribute _to and for_ the Northern people.” She finishes staring at Lord Vynn straight.

There is silence in the hall for a moment and she is almost satisfied- that is until a voice breaks out towards the back.

 

“I believe I would be a good fit Your Grace” cries someone in the back, “I can contribute-“

 

“No your Grace!" Shouts someone to her far left, an instant rebuttal "I would be a better prospect! I can contribute -“

 

“Sit down! You have nothing, Your Grace I on the other hand -“

 

Soon it’s pandemonium as different lords from different houses, both young and old, begin to stand to declare their prospects. It gets worse when the volume increases as they begin to scream at one another, their egos at stake. She can feel Lord Royce’s exhaustion as he begins to move from her side to bring order into the room. In the midst of the noise and their arguing she has to sit back and close her eyes. She's tired, the headache pounding all the more, and it doesn’t help that Northern pride is at its height in the room.  It's only a moment before she opens them and sees Tyrion on the side still, unmoving, gaze far away.

 

She hates that he is pushed into background, that she can see him look at his hands with his head bowed avoiding her gaze.  She hates that the man she knows who has a word for everything, is drowned out by their noise. That for some reason in the middle of all the men fighting to be by her side, he is reduced to silence.   

 

* * *

 

 

They have dinner together that night, but this atmosphere is different. There is tension and she can’t help but feel it doesn’t belong here, not between them, not in this space, not at dinner. Even so, there are more reports to be overlooked and both have piles of paper on their respective sides of the table as dinner goes on.

He is the first one to break the silence.

 

“Sansa…” She hums in response as she overviews a letter that’s beside her plate, she only faintly here’s him place his utensils on the table.

 

“You should take what they suggested into consideration.”

 

"About what?" She says looking up briefly and giving him a small grin. "Give into Lord Pol's request into our lemon reserves?" She says chuckling eyes going back to the report.

 

"No...no I mean... I _meant_... the matter of your marriage." Immediately she goes still and her eyes rise to meet his. He is as still as her.

 

 "I beg your pardon?" She asks leaning forward putting the letter aside giving him her full attention. The way he takes a sip of water, it's as if he's preparing himself for battle.

 

“...What..." He starts, and she can feel his nerves from her side of the table, "what am I... to you?” He finishes tentatively.

 

“What?” She asks the tension in the air growing thicker, and she knows he can see the shock in her eyes. His gaze is unmoving from hers and it feels like forever before he repeats his question.

 

“What am I to you?” He says his voice more confident, but she can see the hesitance in his eyes. This is something they’ve danced around from the beginning. How in the world was she supposed to answer _that_? How in the world do you label what they have? Surely, it’s not that simple.

 

_You're not like the others._ No, he was not like any of them.

_You're someone I've come to need?_ Need sounds too vulnerable, and she just can’t _say_ that.

_You're an ally?_   Surely they’ve helped each other heal, but the term ally just seems so insufficient a term.

 

_A friend?_

Before she can even contemplate that thread of thought further she realizes she said that last one out loud once she sees a resigned smile grace his lips, and she curses herself for it.

“Then…” He says gulping and she can see his adams apple move “as a... _friend_...my lady please take this counsel to heart.”  She hates his tone of formality, and for some reason it literally pains her. “There are prospects gathered here at Winterfell that are worth considering _.”_

Her brows furrow. _"_ This is coming from the same man who had spent the last ten and a half months ridiculing the prospects."

“Sir Rodrick is a good choice, named after a good man-a Tully if I am not mistaken.” He says and she doesn’t have to look at his hands to know he is fidgeting.

_“_ You're not serious… _Lord-What’s-Face_? _”_ she says incredulously and he shrugs his shoulders in response.

"He's not too young to be considered inexperienced, he's shown responsibility, and I’ve heard during the war he was a good leader. He's a strong candidate and...he's made his affections known." He says quietly and she feels something similar to urgency settle in her stomach.

_"_ And so? After today’s meeting it seems like everyone has made their affections known _." No, that’s not true, not everyone._ She doesn’t have to say the thought out loud, but she knows he can hear that too.

"It would do you better Sansa, if you married someone who you would grow to love…Sir Rodrick is kind, shows strength, and even with my jokes," He says and she can see his grip tightening around his goblet. "... is very handsome." He finishes quietly. She shakes her head in response but before she can argue he cuts her off.

"He is amiable, has shown political skill, will treat the people right, has resources in trade that you can utilize especially between here and the Wall, plus- I've seen him with a sword... if any harm were to befall Winterfell," _-if any harm were to befall you-_ is what she hears, "...he can certainly protect you.”

 

There it is. She knew it was only a matter of time. Meeting after meeting talking about Winterfell’s security and even though he hasn’t expressed it, she _knows_ he is taking the blame for the unrest. The rebels are calling out for Lannister blood, and he is the only one left from the side that mattered. That is why they’ve trickled North, and brought this whole instance upon them. This does not in any way compare to weights, a Dragon Queen, or Cersei, but it seems like he deemed it enough damage to push himself away once again.

 

_For her sake and her people._  

With that thought, she extends her hand a bit, an echo of months ago, that first night when she placed it on the bed. Back then it was to comfort him, now she feels like it is to comfort herself.  She knows he knows it’s there, she’s trying, but he doesn’t move, not this time.

No matter how you would define what has grown between them, what has not been acknowledged with words, what always remained unsaid, she reasons he must know this is not what she wants. She does not want him to distance himself. She knew he was pushing her away because he believed she deserved better, because he wanted to protect her from this mess _again_ and the words to refute him are refusing to come up to the surface because between the two of them this has _always been hard for her_ and it _kills_ her because she knows he knows that _._ That’s why he’s always met her wherever she was.   _  
_

Yet normally where he would close the distance, he is staying still right now because he knows she can’t.

_Damn him._

 

She knows by the current set of his jaw that he has made up his mind. Nothing she can say can convince him otherwise. She knows he is doing the only thing he finds to be right in the situation, and it is as if she can hear his unsaid plea between them.

 

_I am trying to protect you, let me protect you.  
_

 

So he does the only thing he can do for her out of his damned kindness.

_He leaves._

He actually leaves Winterfell.

 

She knows he does it for her protection. She knows it’s so the other prospective Lords will have a chance. She knows because this man in his kindness would make sure he poses no danger to her or her people, to the security of the North and to Winterfell. So after almost eleven months of being with her, he sets out to depart from Winterfell and that is why she blames his kindness for her current frustration.

She refuses to call the feeling in her chest _anything_ but that. All these months of _fluttering, breath hitches, welcomed silence, small chuckles and damned smiles_. All of these are just aspects of that he brings about and she is beginning to hate them. What else would you call that transition but frustration? She refuses to entertain any other label.

No, she is not broken, she is not hurt, she has certainly been through worse.

Yet she can't help but wonder in the days that pass after his departure, how the wounds inflicted by his kindness seem to burn on her heart more than the scars she bears on her skin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Please Please let me know what you think. 
> 
> I spent a lot of time trying to stay within character and practically did a character analysis multiple times over in hopes to set the tone for the next few chapters. I hope I did them justice and that you enjoyed this one (I know I certainly did)  
> Anyways, as always feedback much appreciated. ;) 
> 
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/pearofanons


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